


By Their Bootstraps

by Politzania



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Not Steve Rogers Friendly, Wakanda, redemption arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-04-22 07:03:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14303412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Politzania/pseuds/Politzania
Summary: Tony Stark had barely started to comprehend the chain of events that brought him,  Captain America, and the  maybe-former Winter Soldier to a missile silo in Siberia when a man who had been presumed dead made things even more complicated.Now that the three of them are trapped in children's bodies, they must team up with this unlikely ally and ask the assistance of a reclusive king  and a genius princess to try to put their lives back together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my submission for the [ Avenging in Tiny Packages contest](http://ifdragonscouldtalk.tumblr.com/post/169674754392/contest-avenging-comes-in-tiny-packages) being run by @IfDragonsCouldTalk over on Tumblr. The theme was de-aged Tony Stark or Tony taking care of other de-aged Avengers, so I kind of combined the two, and threw in a CA:CW semi fix-it and a redemption arc for a MCU villain just for kicks. I blame @VoodooFee/Fancy DragonQueen and @the-flightoficarus/Flight Of Icarus, with @tisfan and @hddnone/Marvelous Menagerie as accessories. 
> 
> Many thanks to @bill-longbow for being an awesome beta! 
> 
> This will be updated twice weekly -- weekends and mid-week, with the final posting due May 9th, when the contest ends.

Tony Stark had reached the limit of his patience, the limit of his endurance, and quite possibly the limit of his sanity. He'd come to this Soviet missile silo on a mission to try to salvage the reputation of a man he'd called his teammate and his friend. And now, he was staring at a video monitor showing a scene from a security camera. The date stamp in the corner read 'Dec 16, 1991, 7:00 PM'. “What is this?” Tony had been told this footage didn’t exist. He had no idea what it was doing here -- two dozen years and thousands of miles away from where it belonged.

The crash itself was as brutal as he’d imagined. A man on a motorcycle stopped, but not to help. Instead, Tony watched as his father was bludgeoned with a metal fist. He couldn't see what the killer did to his mother, which was only a small mercy. After pulling a case out of the trunk, the murderer stared blankly into the lens before shooting out the camera. 

The man in the footage was the same man who now stood across from him, gun up with a haunted, hunted look on his face. Tony lunged at Barnes; but Steve held him back. “Wait, Tony.” Of course Cap would interfere on his pal’s behalf, but he showed no signs of surprise, or shock. 

“Did you know?” Tony didn’t want to ask the question, but he had to. 

“I didn’t know it was him.” His expression wavered. 

“Don’t bullshit me, Rogers, did you know?” Somewhere in all the files Cap had pored through during his search for his bosom buddy turned soulless assassin -- files that JARVIS had painstakingly decoded, in many cases -- had he found a reference to the Winter Soldier being assigned to assassinate Howard Stark? 

“Yes.” The answer hit Tony like a blow, forcing him back. He lashed out in reply, sending Rogers flying. There was a blinding flash, and a sharp report. Excruciating agony suddenly wracked his body, and Tony momentarily blacked out.

When he came to, he was still in the armor, but it was somehow much larger. The HUD and helmet were at least six inches above his head. His arms were tangled in the sleeves of his jacket, which in turn were caught on the armholes of the suit, and his legs were left dangling as he straddled the crotch of the armor. Tony cried out as much from surprise as from the painful position. 

“Boss! What’s happening?” His AI sounded equally confused and unnerved.

“I don’t know -- emergency release!” The front of the armor split open, panels retracting. He half-slid, half-fell out of it, nearly tripping over the too-long and too-loose clothing. But Tony didn’t waste time wondering what had happened.

“You killed my mom!” he screamed, launching himself at Barnes. Overwhelmed by anger and grief, Tony blindly threw punch after punch. His target didn’t fight back, instead protecting his face with only one arm. The other -- the metal prosthetic -- lay grotesquely on the floor. 

“Tony, stop it!” The voice was high-pitched, but the words were spoken with familiar authority. He paid it no heed; Iron Man didn't report to Captain America anymore. 

“I didn’t know it was them!” Barnes protested, sounding -- and looking -- decades younger than he should. “They put me in a chair an’ it made me forget! They said a bunch of words, an’ then I had t’do whatever they told me to! I’m sorry, I really, really am!” He started sobbing. “I didn’t wanna do any of it.” 

Barnes collapsed to the floor, curling into a ball. Tony found himself crying as well, his assault turning to graceless kicks and slaps. He’d seen diagrams of the chair, read the detailed descriptions of its purpose and function. It had turned his stomach to think that anyone had been subjected to that torture. Barnes had been a tool of sinister forces greater than himself, been manipulated and lied to; Tony knew a little something about that. 

A pint-sized version of Rogers pushed his way between him and Barnes. “I’m sorry, Tony,” he apologized, tears streaming down his face. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to hurt you.” He wrapped his arms around Tony to stop him from doing any more harm, but maybe also in consolation. “You’re my friend, too.” 

Tony took a deep breath, finally taking a moment to assess the situation. He didn’t know how, but the three of them had been somehow de-aged, changed to children no more than maybe seven or eight years old. But to not their own childhood: as they clearly retained their memories. Added to that, Barnes was missing his arm and Rogers was neither skinny nor sickly. 

But before he could say a word about it, they all heard steps on the metal stairs above them. Rogers went for his shield while Barnes pulled a knife out of the oversized vest draped around him. Tony ran back to the armor. “Friday, detach right gauntlet!” He donned the too-big glove, thankful he could still trigger the repulsor. By the time a figure came walking out of the gloom, they stood together to face the unknown. 

Their visitor was a burly man, perhaps in his mid forties, approaching them with his hands held loosely at his sides. As soon as they could clearly see his face, Rogers gasped. “Rumlow, is that you? How did you survive? What are you doing here?” Barnes must have recognized him too; the blood drained from his face. Tony didn’t know who this guy was, but if he made the Winter Soldier nervous, that didn’t seem good. 

“What the fuck happened to us?” Tony exclaimed. Maybe this Rumlow had seen something, knew something that could explain their current predicament. 

“Let’s just say ‘occult Hydra bullshit’ for now,” the man replied. “I’ll explain best I can once we’re out of here. His body language was anxious, but not aggressive. Tony’s companions, on the other hand, were tense as bowstrings, eyes watching the man’s every move. “What happened to Zemo?” Rumlow asked. 

That put Tony on alert as well. If he were on Zemo’s side, that made him an enemy. “He was in the observation chamber,” he explained, pointing to the window where they’d last seen the architect of their current situation. “Looks like he took off, though.” 

“Shit,” Rumlow spat out. He came closer, looking them over. They must’ve made an odd sight; Tony was practically swimming in his clothes, as was Barnes, while Rogers had stripped out of his too-large uniform and was now only wearing an undershirt.

“First things first. We need warmer clothing,” Rumlow stated. He wasn’t wrong; without the protection of the armor, Tony knew he wouldn’t last ten minutes outside. His super-soldier companions might be better off, but not by much. 

Barnes gave terse directions to a supply room on an upper level. “We’ll wait here,” he finished. Smart thinking -- that would give them a chance to talk between themselves. Rumlow turned and headed back up the stairs. 

“I take it we’re back to our truce?” Rogers asked. “Seeing as we have bigger things to worry about at the moment.” 

“Don’t you mean smaller things? As in us?” 

“That’s not funny, Tony,” Steve glowered. His cherubic face couldn’t carry the weight of a full ‘Captain America is Disappointed in You’ glare, but it was in the neighborhood. Tony responded in kind. 

“You’re still on my shit list, Cap, and your buddy too. But yeah, let’s get somewhere a little safer, figure out what the hell happened to us first.” Barnes suddenly tapped Rogers’ shoulder, then silently pointed down the darkened hallway with his knife. There was movement in the shadows. Tony raised his gauntlet. 

The Black Panther strode into the room. Tony’s capacity for astonishment was pretty much exhausted at this point; he didn’t even care how the newly-crowned king of Wakanda had found them. T’challa stopped, tilting his head slightly before removing his helmet. “What has happened here?” 

“Funny story -- turns out the Fountain of Youth wasn’t in Florida after all,” Tony quipped.

Rogers elbowed him sharply as he stepped in front of Barnes to shield him. “Your majesty,” he said, “we’re not exactly sure ourselves. There was some sort of explosion, and then we found ourselves transformed.” He squared his shoulders, meeting T’Challa’s gaze. 

“Why are you here?” Barnes asked flatly, his fist clenched, eyes downcast. 

“I followed Stark, in hopes that he would lead me to you,” T’Challa replied. “But by listening first -- before taking action -- I discovered the truth. I have allowed myself to be consumed by vengeance, but as a ruler of men, I must now instead seek justice. It was not you who killed my father, Sergeant Barnes. As for the other crimes of which you have been accused--”

But before T’Challa could finish his pretty speech, the sound of boots on the stairs interrupted him. Quickly donning his helmet, T’Challa flicked his hands and blades sprung from his fingers. 

“Hey! Get away from them!” It was Rumlow, back from his supply run, and apparently on the defensive. 

“And who are you, to be giving such an order?” T’Challa replied. 

“Someone who will kick your ass if you lay a finger on those kids.” Rogers made a soft huff of disbelief; Tony still hadn’t figured out what history he and Barnes had with Rumlow, but it obviously wasn’t positive.

To Tony’s surprise, T’Challa removed his helmet. He looked Rumlow over closely and said, “You do not belong here... nor, I believe, anywhere else on this Earth.” His comment only compounded the air of mystery that hung about their new advocate. 

“You’re not wrong,” Rumlow replied, “but before this goes any further,” and he dropped the duffels and kicked them over, “how about we not let these kids freeze to death?” 

“Stop calling us kids already,” Tony grumbled, pulling one of the bags towards him. He started rifling through it to see what might possibly fit. 

“Well, we kind of are at the moment, Tony,” Rogers said dryly. Barnes rolled his eyes as he grabbed the other bag. He awkwardly pulled out a handful of clothing and shoved it at Rogers. 

“Put some pants on, pal,” he muttered. “Can’t stand to see your knobby knees a minute longer."

T’Challa started slowly circling Rumlow. He, in turn, moved to keep facing the king, but didn’t respond otherwise. It seemed the two men were reserving judgement before coming to blows. After nearly a minute of silent observation, T’Challa asked Rumlow, “How do you come to be here? And what do you know of the transformation of these men?” 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” That cryptic comment left Tony thinking maybe Rogers and Barnes were right to be distrustful of Rumlow. His presence certainly seemed like more than coincidence. 

“Try me,” T’Challa replied with a fierce grin.

Rumlow surprised Tony by asking the king to introduce himself; had he been living under a rock this past week and a half? Once T’Challa revealed his identity, Rumlow nodded, as if finally putting two and two together. He glanced at Barnes, then returned his gaze to T’Challa. “The only one here guilty of killing your people is me, Your Majesty,” he said, “I expected to die in Lagos, and take Rogers along. But fate had other plans.” 

Tony listened in disbelief. This was that Crossbones -- the terrorist that Cap and the rest of them had been after for months and finally caught up with in Nigeria. But he had been killed in the explosion that had kicked off this whole damn enterprise... hadn’t he? 

Rumlow spun an unlikely tale of being saved from certain death only to be shanghaied by a malevolent intelligence. When he mentioned the name Zola, Barnes turned even paler, and Rogers tensed; it rang a bell with Tony as well, but he couldn’t place the name. 

As Rumlow described the last week’s worth of events from his perspective, how he'd been partnered with Zemo to set the Avengers against one another, Tony found himself clenching his fists in anger. They’d been manipulated so easily; he was dumbfounded that such a house-of-cards scheme had actually succeeded. Then he felt a little sick, thinking of what could have happened if he'd still been in the armor when he attacked. 

Rumlow finished the story by explaining his own breaking point; the revelation that Barnes had not been the only Winter Soldier. Considering the detail he’d provided earlier in his story, he was oddly vague about how he’d gotten to the silo, simply stating he was sent here against his will to kill Zemo and retrieve all the super-soldiers, Rogers and Barnes included. 

“Why should we believe anything you have to say?” Rogers asked, his expression stormy. 

Rumlow spread his hands. “I’m already livin’ on borrowed time. Why would I waste it on lies? Besides,” and he pulled a cylindrical object from his pocket. “This might hold the key to getting you three back to normal.” He held it out to T’Challa on his palm.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T'Challa offers the foursome sanctuary, and they start the flight from Siberia to Wakanda. Tony gets some research done along the way, and Rumlow proves surprisingly sympathetic.

“What is this?” T’Challa took the cylinder from Rumlow, looking it over carefully before handing it back. 

Rumlow shook his head, motioning for the king to keep it. As he explained its twin was the cause for their current condition, Tony exclaimed, “What the hell?” Why would you even do that?” 

He shrugged in apology. “I was told was that it would ‘subdue’, not kill, and after you backhanded Rogers across the room, it seemed like a good idea.” Glancing at his watch, he mentioned that Zola had already contacted him for a mission report, and they should be leaving as soon as possible. 

While T’Challa and Rumlow discussed next steps, the rest of them finished getting dressed. Tony had rolled up a good foot or so of pant leg and stuffed it in the boots which Rumlow had located; they rose nearly to his knees. All this left him feeling nearly as clumsy as he had in the Mark I; at least the three pairs of socks (with a fourth stuffed into the toes of the boots) were keeping his feet warm, . 

Barnes and Rogers weren’t looking much better; even though they had a few inches on him, their clothes were still hilariously oversized. Barnes’ empty sleeve was less amusing, however, and his shoulder didn’t look right. An awful thought came over Tony: what if he’d still had the arc reactor inside him? If it had been rejected by his new body like Barnes’ arm apparently had been, would it have left a gaping hole in his chest? Tony flashed back to the terrifying memory of waking during the surgery as the crude electromagnet was being placed in his chest. Suddenly dizzy and unable to catch a breath, he bent over, hands on knees.

“Hey, kid, you okay?” Rumlow came over and put a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m not a fucking kid!” Tony knocked his hand away; the flare of anger helping to push back the panic. “I’m a forty-six year old man. Billionaire genius playboy philanthropist, isn’t that right. Cap? I’ve built dozens of suits of armor, starting with a box of scraps in a goddamned cave. I’ve fought gods and monsters, aliens and murder-robots. I discovered a new element and I can figure this out. It’s what I do.” 

“Yeah, it is,” Rogers said. “But you don’t have to do it alone, Tony. You know that.” 

“I will put my best researchers to the task of restoring you to your proper selves.” T’Challa agreed, and that gave Tony a glimmer of hope. “However,” the king continued, “as Mister Rumlow said, we must soon depart. I can offer you all sanctuary in my country if you will accept it.” They all nodded their agreement; it wasn’t as if they had many options. Besides, Tony was intensely curious to see the technology that the Black Panther suit clearly represented, along with what really lay behind the facade of such a isolated nation. 

“Unfortunately,” T’Challa continued, “I only have room for a single passenger. That place is taken by our common enemy, Helmut Zemo.” 

“You caught that bastard?” Rogers asked. “I figured he’d be miles away by now.” 

“His intended destination was the life after this,” T’Challa replied. “I prevented him from taking the coward’s path.” 

Tony turned to Rumlow. “In that case, I hope you can pilot a quinjet. None of us are tall enough to reach the pedals and still be able to see over the dash.” Rogers and Barnes tried to argue with Tony’s conclusion, making no effort to hide their distrust of Rumlow. But the facts were clear; the quinjet’s controls were designed for adults, not the pint-sized bodies they currently inhabited. 

In addition, Tony knew something about seeking redemption and was therefore willing to give their unlikely ally the benefit of the doubt. To an extent: Tony continued to wear the gauntlet and had donned the armor’s remote control headset. Just because he didn’t have the same kind of hate for Rumlow that Cap & Co. were harboring didn’t mean he was going to take chances. 

“Friday, hack into the system and download any pertinent data about the Winter Soldier program. Meet us outside at the quinjet in ten.” The armor strode over to one of the consoles and started tapping out commands. 

“Nice trick, there, Stark,” Rumlow commented, “bein’ two places at once.” 

“It comes in handy.” 

They took the elevator back up to ground level, Rogers and Barnes not taking their eyes of Rumlow for a second. The moment they stepped outside, the wind cut right through the layers of clothes Tony had donned, chilling him to the bone. They hurried to the shelter of the quinjet, passing by the sleek Wakandan aircraft. Tony itched to take a closer look, but there wasn’t time and it was too damn cold, anyways. 

Rogers and Barnes had taken seats furthest from the cockpit, coincidentally within easy reach of the weapons locker. Again, major trust issues. Tony, on the other hand, opted for the co-pilot seat. He preferred to keep a close eye on their unexpected ally, as well as their progress. As T’Challa walked Rumlow through setting a course for his homeland, Tony kept an eye on Friday’s progress. He’d given his AI an additional command using Morse code within the gauntlet: to compile a dossier on Rumlow for later review. 

As they finished their preparations, Tony signaled Friday to join them ASAP. In less time than he’d expected the armor entered the quinjet and lowered itself into one of the remaining seats. On his headset’s HUD, Friday flashed up a message saying that both objectives were partially completed. He tapped back an acknowledgement.

Rumlow handled the takeoff smoothly, orienting the plane to the proper heading. He followed T’Challa’s instructions, keeping the Wakandan plane in view as they headed southeast over the snowy steppes. Once they’d reached altitude, he flicked on autopilot and turned to face Tony. “Any chance there’s something to eat on this bus?” 

Tony browsed through the compartments and located several bottles of water and some MREs. After dropping off Rumlow’s allotment, he headed to the back of the jet. “I tried to talk our pilot into swinging by McDonald’s, but I guess this will have to do.” They still had a lot to discuss, but this was neither the time nor the place. 

Rogers motioned to the empty bench beside them, saying, “Take a seat,” so Tony did. For a moment, he thought Rogers was going to say something more as well, but instead he started prepping both his and Barnes’ meals. When his buddy protested, Rogers replied, “C’mon, Buck. Think of it as payback for all the cooking you did back at our apartment.” Smart thinking on Cap’s part, behaving as if his actions were a favor instead of a necessity. 

Barnes rolled his eyes and muttered, “ ‘S ‘cause you were lousy in the kitchen, punk.” 

“Jerk,” Rogers shot back with a smile, nudging Barnes with his knee. 

There was affection in their casual insults, and Tony couldn’t help but think of Rhodey. Even though his dear friend was getting the best care money could buy -- Pepper was surely seeing to that -- Tony had no idea how soon or to what extent he might recover. As for Pepper herself, well, Tony wasn’t ready to open that can of worms right now. And speaking of can of worms... Tony looked at the remains of his spaghetti and meatballs, wrapped it up and threw it into the trash bag. 

Barnes was poking listlessly at his meal, his posture showing fatigue and pain. Tony realized to his horror that any internal support for Barnes’ arm would now be grotesquely oversized. He looked closer and saw just how misshapen the Sergeant’s shoulder was, even under the layers of oversized clothing, and yet he hadn’t said a word. Tony glanced at Rogers with a raised eyebrow, and got a nod of acknowledgement in reply, The good Captain had noticed as well. Of course he had; they’d known each other since they were the age they now looked to be. How could Tony’s friendship possibly compete with that? 

With a quick salute to the super-soldiers, Tony returned to the co-pilot seat to start reviewing the dossier Friday had put together on Rumlow, reading through the text flashing up on his eyepiece. Tony had guessed the guy’s age right; he was only 2 months Tony’s junior. After serving three tours in the Army, he’d joined SHIELD, working his way up from junior agent to leading missions in good time. In fact, Rumlow had been assigned to several ops with Rogers and Romanoff before the shit hit the fan. 

Friday had discovered references to him in the Hydra files as well; he’d been recruited about ten years ago, and risen quickly within their organization. But before Tony could dig much further, Rumlow interrupted him. “So, what brought you to Siberia?” 

“Apparently Zemo’s insanely-dependent-on-coincidences plan,” Tony replied, the bitterness at having been so deftly played still an ache in his chest. “I suppose you knew about Barnes and my parents as well?” he asked, keeping his voice down. He didn’t feel like riling up Cap and his shadow once again. 

Rumlow shook his head in confusion, but matched Tony’s low volume as he replied, “What about ‘em? I mean, I heard what you yelled, but I don’t know what you meant.” 

“The car accident that killed my parents back in ‘91? Well, it turned out not to be an accident.” Unable to master his feelings, Tony’s throat started to close up. “Zemo somehow tracked down some security f-footage I’d never seen. It showed that the crash d-didn’t do them in, so Barnes f-finished the job.” Stuttering his way through the explanation, Tony couldn’t stop the tears from welling up in his eyes as he swallowed down a sob. 

Rumlow reached out to awkwardly pat Tony on the shoulder. “Jesus, kid... Sorry, sorry,” he apologized at Tony’s glare, “I keep forgetting; you’re not a child. But, yeah, that’s ... that’s pretty damned awful, and what a shitty way to find out.” Either Rumlow was a hell of an actor, or he hadn’t been privy to everything the Soldier had done over the years. “But why’d you wallop Cap? Thought you two were friends.” 

“He k-knew.” Tony hiccupped, face burning with embarrassment at his current loss of control. “He knew and didn’t tell me. Must’ve found out when he was digging for intel on his long-lost pal.” 

Rumlow’s fingers tightened on his shoulder. “That ain’t right, Stark. He shouldn’t have done you that way.” His response was fierce, if quiet, and he shot a glare towards the back of the jet. Considering his own history, Tony thought it was ironic that he took such a dim view of betrayal. 

“Yeah, well, it’s not the first time someone I thought was a friend kept secrets from me, and probably won’t be the last.” Taking off the headset, Tony scrubbed at his face and took a deep breath. “So, how much longer we have to go?” 

Rumlow looked over the instrument panel. “Three, four hours at least.” 

Tony stretched and yawned; the crappy instant coffee in the MRE hadn’t done much to stave off his increasing exhaustion. “Well, as they say, ‘when action grows unprofitable, gather information; when information grows unprofitable, sleep.’” 

“Machiavelli?” 

“Ursula K. LeGuin, actually.” Tony remembered one more task he had to take care of. Turning away from Rumlow, he picked up the headset and held the mic up near his mouth. “Friday, send a message to Pepper. Tell her I’m going to Wakanda on urgent business. I’ll be back in touch and get her up to speed by,” he checked his watch and did some quick time zone adjustments, “no later than close of business tomorrow.” That would give him almost a day and a half to figure out what the hell was going on. “Same basic message for Rhodey and Happy. Oh, and ask Hap to tell the Parker kid to stay out of trouble, okay?” 

“Got it, Boss,” his AI replied. 

Tony glanced towards the back of the jet; the two super-soldiers were sitting close, with Rogers’ head resting on Barnes, apparently sleeping. But his companion was not, his eyes still sharp and watchful.

“Friday, activate sentry mode.” The eyes of the armor’s faceplate glowed, and the remaining palm repulsor charged back up with a whine. 

“What’s going on, Stark?” Barnes hissed, clearly not wanting to wake his pal. 

“Just gonna catch some shuteye and wanted to make sure nobody does anything stupid in the meanwhile.” 

“Can’t,” Steve murmured drowsily, “Y’took th’stupid with ya.” 

Barnes smiled a little, and in a fond voice, said, “Go back to sleep, Stevie.” He smoothed his companion’s hair back from his forehead and pulled the too-large jacket a little more closely around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: If Stucky (Steve/Bucky) isn't your thing, don't worry - it's very much in the background and nothing happens onscreen between them beyond the type of thing in this last scene.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumlow follows T'Challa's jet into the heart of Wakanda, and Tony and his companions get their first look at this magnificent city. After landing, they are split up: Rogers and Barnes are sent to the medical suite, Rumlow goes to speak with T'Challa and W'kabi and Tony is handed over to Shuri.

Tony was starting to wonder if there were more to that ‘inseparable in the schoolyard and on the battlefield’ that had never made it into the history books? Or was it simply brotherly affection that was easier for them to express in their current condition? Tony knew how closely his own emotions were running to the surface in this new body; perhaps it was the same for them. Not that it mattered either way, he supposed. 

Tony closed his eyes and fell asleep more quickly than he’d expected. But his nap was fitful at best, disturbed by images of the past week playing in full HD and surround sound in his head. He jolted awake more than once. Whether it was reliving Rhodey’s heart-stopping plummet or facing Barnes in full Soldier mode with only his wristband gauntlet as defense, it didn’t matter, it was awful. And so much of it could have been prevented if Cap had just played along and signed the damn Accords. 

He himself wasn’t blameless, Tony knew that. The airport confrontation had been a complete shitshow. Not only was it further ammunition for the two Rossholes, but Rhodey would never be the same; even if he recovered, his active duty career was over. And there were his former teammates, imprisoned in the Raft; he supposed he’d deserved their harsh words. 

Backhanding Rogers across the silo had been yet another mistake. God knows what else could have happened if Rumlow hadn’t thrown the de-aging grenade. While the initial flare of fury had mostly burnt itself out, Tony still felt a roil of anger, betrayal and loss smoldering deep in his gut. It wasn’t over, not by a long shot. 

Nevertheless, his curiosity was winning out over everything else, as it usually did. Why had the Soldier been sent to assassinate Howard Stark? What had been in that briefcase, anyways? As Tony uncurled himself and reached out for the armor’s headset, Rumlow commented, “Can’t sleep?” 

“Not really. Maybe once we get somewhere with a decent bed. Gonna amuse myself in the meanwhile.” 

“We’ve still got about two hours to go, so I’m gonna catch a catnap. Wake me if anything interesting happens.” Rumlow tipped back in the pilot’s seat, and threw one arm over his eyes. 

Tony put the headset back on and tapped out a command in the gauntlet. The eyepiece lit up but the list was short and scanty; apparently the Soviets didn’t believe in digitizing old records. As if sensing his frustration, Friday whispered in his ear: “Videotape and multiple paper records secured within the suit.” 

“Clever girl,” Tony murmured in reply. He perused the info his AI was able to wrest from the ancient servers. As best he could tell, the other Soldiers, the ones who had ended up in those tubes, had already been Hydra, perhaps even volunteers. They probably hadn’t needed the mindwipes, then. Or the metal arm; Tony assumed that was a result of Barnes’ initial fall from the train. 

The files were all datestamped circa 1990, with the first successful transformations recorded in late December, 1991. He felt sure the common timeframe wasn’t a fluke. God help him, but the best source of information -- short of going back and packing up all the files in that silo -- was sitting right there in the quinjet with him. 

Tony peered into the dim light of the rear of the cabin; it looked like Barnes was still awake. 

“Hey, Tin Man, what can you tell me about the other soldiers?” 

“What’s it matter? They’re dead now,” Barnes answered dully. “Good riddance.” 

“No argument there. But it seems like a hell of a coincidence that the videotape we all watched was in the same facility where they were being kept on ice. So I’m asking.” 

“You sure you wanna know, ace? You might not like what comes crawlin’ out from under that rock.” Tony’s stomach dropped. Even though Howard hadn’t still been officially working with SHIELD at that point, it was entirely possible that he was poking around into something he shouldn’t have been and paid for it with not only his own life, but his wife’s as well. 

“My likes and dislikes don’t matter,” Tony responded flatly. “Was your mission to assassinate Howard Stark in any way tied to the Winter Soldier project?” 

Before Barnes could answer, the radio crackled to life and Rumlow startled awake. “Mister Rumlow, are you there?” asked T’Challa. 

“Yes, Your Majesty.” 

“We are approaching the Wakandan border. Please form up below and to my left.” Rumlow repositioned the quinjet accordingly. Tony returned to the co-pilot seat; it was nearly sunset and the savannah below them was painted in golden light. He spotted a few small villages along their path, with herds of livestock being returned to their pens for the evening. 

“Wait a second, was that a rhino in one of those paddocks?” he exclaimed, rubbing at his eyes in astonishment. 

“Sorry, Stark. Didn’t see it. Kind of busy.” Rumlow replied tersely. They were approaching a, large, wide mountain. It stood alone and Tony wondered if it were volcanic in nature, like Mount Kilimanjaro. 

“Mister Rumlow,” T’Challa said, “I recommend you turn off your cloaking and jamming gadgets. They are doing you no good now, and may cause interference.” Rumlow quickly flipped a few switches and acknowledged the order. 

“Uh, shouldn’t we be pulling up?” Tony asked, as the mountain loomed closer. 

“What’s going on?” Barnes and Rogers came up to stand behind them. 

“Either T’Challa’s developed a taste for thrills, or there’s more to that mountain than we’re seeing,” Tony replied, gripping the arms of the seat tightly as he noted the absence of any proximity alarms. Rumlow’s knuckles were white as well, but he kept on course, pacing the Wakandan jet. 

And then they were... through the mountain, flying low over a city like none he’d ever seen. It reminded him at first of Disney’s Progress City model, but with a distinctly African feel. Skyscrapers glittered and gleamed in the last few rays of the setting sun, while the lights of the city sparkled and shone. Silver pathways wound between the buildings -- Tony guessed it to be some sort of monorail. 

“It looks like the Emerald City, ‘cept not quite so green,” Barnes breathed, and Tony had to agree. Ever since he’d seen Klaue’s cache of vibranium back in Johannesburg, Tony had suspected Wakanda was not simply the pastoral nation it claimed to be. What T’Challa had done in that catsuit of his, plus the jet they’d just followed halfway across the world only furthered his supposition. 

“Welcome to my home,” T’Challa said, pride clear in his voice. “We will be landing shortly.” They followed his jet to what was presumably the actual mountain, its peak flattened with a curious structure built on top. At T’Challa’s direction, Rumlow landed the quinjet a short distance away from where the royal jet touched down. They watched and waited as a group of Wakandans welcomed their king home. 

T’Challa was first greeted by an older, regal-looking woman who must be the Queen Mother. She was accompanied by a young woman, probably a sister. A group dressed in colorful, yet ceremonial clothing surrounded them; perhaps a council or advisors. The royal guard -- tall, intimidating women armed with spears -- stood at attention as the king spoke with them. After a few minutes, the Queen Mother and the majority of her retinue departed, leaving T’Challa, another man, the young woman, and the guards. 

At that point, T’Challa made a beckoning gesture, and Rumlow lowered the rear ramp. Weapons at the ready, members of the guard stood on either side of the ramp as the four of them exited. Tony was thankful he’d left the armor securely belted in; he didn’t want to give these fierce warriors any possible reason to think he was a threat. They escorted their visitors around to the front of the plane. The young woman stared in amusement at them as they approached. 

“When you told me these men were children, brother, I thought you were speaking metaphorically!” she laughed. 

The fiercest-looking member of the guard pointed her spear in their direction. “Which one is Barnes, my king?” Her question was low and dangerous. 

T’Challa quickly made introductions, then continued. “Okoye, the Sergeant was not to blame for Vienna. The man whose actions caused the death of King T’Chaka, as well as many others, is still in the belly of my plane. After so many hours, he is probably eager to be freed.” At her feral grin, he added, “You will not harm him.” 

“We shall see,” she answered with more than a hint of insolence, and strode away to retrieve Zemo. 

Barnes was leaning heavily on Rogers, his face pale and drawn. T’Challa addressed another member of his honor guard. “Ayo, please escort Sergeant Barnes to the medical suite. He appears to be in great pain.” 

“I’m going with him,” Rogers stated fiercely, tightening his hold on both his friend and the unwieldy duffel he’d half-carried, half-dragged out of the plane.

“Of course, Captain,” the king replied smoothly. “You and I will talk once your companion is resting comfortably. I assume his prosthetic is in that bag? An examination of its interface may assist with his evaluation.” Rogers nodded, and the two of them followed the guard into the building. 

T’Challa turned to Rumlow. “And I wish to speak with you about your former allies and their larger designs. W’kabi, your insight would be appreciated as well.” Before the three of them disappeared into the building, T’Challa spoke over his shoulder. “Sister, please make Mr. Stark comfortable.” 

Left alone, Tony stood quietly, not wanting to draw the ire of the remaining honor guard. Shuri walked over, looking him up and down. He did the same, noting she probably wasn’t any older than Parker. Nevertheless, she spoke with authority to those standing at attention around them. 

“As our king said, this little lost white boy is my responsibility. He poses no threat, I think.” At her insistence, the guards reluctantly assumed positions flanking the entrance of the building. 

“So you are Tony Stark,” she continued. “A man so brilliant that he discovers a new element, and so conceited that he names it after himself.” 

Her comment stung, and was wrong to boot, but he didn’t think his first words to her should be contradictory. Besides, he was intrigued by the fact that she knew about his discovery. Obviously Wakanda was much more than it seemed, and perhaps she was as well. “To be fair, I had a lot of help from my dad, and it’s his name, too.” 

“But I thought your father--” She looked taken aback. 

“Was dead long before you were born?” Tony replied brusquely, pushing the thought of the security footage from his mind. “Yeah, but he left me some interesting clues.” 

Shuri raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” 

“I can show you, if you’ll let me bring my armor with us,” he offered. “I can get to my private archives through its integrated artificial intelligence system.” 

She narrowed her eyes slightly, but there was more curiosity in her expression than suspicion. “Okay. Let’s see what your tin can looks like up close.” There was just enough lightness in her response for him to recognize that he was being teased, not insulted. 

“I’ll have you know it’s a titanium alloy can, thank you very much.” He pulled the remote control headset out of his pocket and put it on. “Hey Friday, c’mon out and say hello to everyone.” 

At the sound of the armor clomping down the exit ramp, the guards went once more on high alert. In a few swift strides they had surrounded their princess, and the tips of their spears glowed menacingly as they scowled at Tony. 

He halted the armor in its tracks while Shuri rolled her eyes and twisted a few beads of her bracelet. A translucent blue shield sprang out of nowhere, mounted to her wrist. “I can protect myself,” she said with a note of exasperation. “I believe Mr. Stark means us no harm.” 

His attention distracted by the sudden appearance of the glowing energy shield, it took Shuri kicking him in the shin for Tony to react appropriately. “My apologies,” he said, bowing slightly. “I simply wished to show Her Highness something of interest, and needed my equipment. I beg permission to continue.” Shuri made an impatient, shooing gesture towards the warriors before taking Tony’s hand to lead him towards the building. 

“So, what can that shield stand up to?” he asked, trotting slightly to keep up with her. 

“Everything I’ve thrown at it so far,” she grinned. “I’d suggest we try a little target practice with your repulsors, but Okoye would kill me if I annoy the Dora Milaje any further. Let’s go to the lab.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I've managed to do Shuri justice in this fic, as she's such an amazing character and I feel certain that she and Tony would bond over their love of science, technology and tinkering. Here's hoping Infinity War gives us at least a taste of that somewhere along the line.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony visits the Wakanda Design Group lab and he and Shuri bond over the loss of their respective fathers. The next morning, Tony spends more time with Shuri before taking care of some unfinished business with Rogers.

Tony was absolutely entranced by the Wakandan Design Group’s facilities; laughing in delight at the wonder of it all. The sand tables fascinated him, adding a tactile element to the holographic interface he was used to using in his own workshop. And when Shuri showed him how the kimoyo beads worked, he was in awe. 

“Can I just move in?” he finally asked. “I can sleep under one of the tables. I’m housebroken, I swear!” He recognized his emotions were getting the better of him again, but the wonder and joy suffusing him made him heedless of how foolish he may have sounded. 

Shuri smiled broadly in reply, his enthusiasm apparently infectious. “I think we can find you somewhere a little more comfortable. But you said you had something to show me?” 

Tony had almost forgotten what now felt like a child’s boast. “Uh, yeah. Friday, can you pull up the files on Element 119?” At her nonplussed look, he explained, “IUPAC hasn’t yet decided on its official name, yet -- my suggestion was Badassium, but that isn’t going over so well. The press are the ones calling it Starkium.” 

Friday projected the wireframe diagram of the Stark Expo, catching Shuri’s attention. “What is this?” 

“The scale model of the 1974 Stark Expo, and a secret message no one figured out for over thirty five years.” 

“It is ... complicated.” She walked around it, tilting her head this way and that, then raised a hand to trace through the same pattern he had seen in the buildings and landscaping, a rapt look on her face.

“So was he.” 

“Boss, should I play the recording as well?” Friday asked. 

“No, thank you.” It wasn’t something Tony felt like sharing right now, not after everything that had happened. But he found some comfort in thinking of his father’s words that, while never said to his face, had seemed no less heartfelt: _‘What is, and always will be, my greatest creation, is you.’_

“How old were you, when you lost him?” Shuri asked, her eyes still fixed on the diagram. 

“Twenty-one,” Tony replied. “Not much older than you.” He paused, the implication of her question dawning on him. “I am sorry for your loss, Your Highness.” 

“My father won’t be here for my next birthday.” Shuri’s voice was soft and trembling as she fumbled with the beads at her wrist. Opaque walls formed around the two of them and she sank down into a chair, fists clenching. “I should have gone to see him off, but I was in the middle of an experiment. If I had known...” 

Tony thought back to his demonstration at MIT less than a week ago, and the words he wished he’d been able to say to his parents. “Regrets will tear you up inside, Princess. I’m sure your father knew just how much you loved him.” 

Shuri nodded and started sobbing. Tony embraced her awkwardly, yet sincerely; hoping he wasn’t breaking protocol too badly for daring to touch Wakandan royalty. Tears slipping down his own cheeks, all the well-meant, but empty platitudes that had been said to him under similar circumstances ran through his mind. He opted instead to hum one of his mother’s favorite lullabies. 

A few minutes passed, and then his traitorous stomach growled. She laughed softly, took a deep breath and wiped at her cheeks. “Yes, let’s get something to eat. Have you ever had fufu?” 

Shuri ordered dinner to be delivered to the lab. Tony wondered if it were just for convenience’s sake, or if she were trying to keep the knowledge of their presence to a minimum. It didn’t matter much to him either way; this younger body was quite insistent when it came to basic needs like food and sleep. 

Nearly a dozen different covered containers were delivered and placed on a hastily-cleared workbench. Shuri explained each dish: some items were familiar and some were not, but everything was delicious. As they finished eating, he failed to stifle a yawn, and Shuri smiled. “I suppose we’ll need to find you boys somewhere to stay for awhile.”

“I’m not a boy,” Tony grumbled, “I just look like one.” 

“My apologies, Mister Stark,” she replied with exaggerated formality. “And how about some clothes that actually fit?” 

“That’d be nice.” He’d kicked the over-sized boots off the moment they got into the lab, and had been padding around in socks ever since. Shuri twiddled with her bracelet, then held her hand out, palm upward. A three-dimensional image of one of the royal guard -- the Dora Milaje, Tony recalled -- appeared. “Yes, my princess?” Hand-held holographic video-conferencing? Nice. 

“Ayo, have rooms been prepared for our guests?” 

“Indeed. East wing, level five. Barnes and Rogers are already situated -- they opted to share quarters. Rumlow is still with the King and his advisors. I assume Stark is still with you?” 

“Yes, I fed him and the poor boy is getting quite sleepy.” He gave her a dirty look, and she made a face in reply, which Ayo apparently ignored, 

“Do you wish me to escort him to his room?” 

“I’ll take care of it. Thank you, Ayo.” The woman bowed in reply, and Shuri ended the call. 

As she started towards the entrance, Tony said, “Wait a sec,” and walked over to the armor. “Friday, Protocol Lux-08-M-Deuce-Delta.” The arc reactor powered down, and with a click, slid into his outstretched hands. At Shuri’s questioning look, he replied, “I’m sleeping in a strange place. Figured I could use a nightlight.” 

It was probably rude of him, but after having had one literally ripped out of his chest by someone he had known and trusted for decades, Tony was more than a little protective of his crowning achievement. He’d have liked to take the entire suit with him instead, but that seemed even more of an insult, and would probably set the Dora Milaje on high alert once again. Besides, compared to what Tony had seen so far, his armor was ancient and outdated. 

They left the lab, and Shuri led him down multiple hallways, all colorfully decorated, and finally stopped in front of a door. “This is your suite. Rogers and Barnes are next door, and Rumlow’s room is across the hall. I’ll have some clothes sent over in the morning. Get some sleep, and in the meanwhile,” she reached into a pocket and grinned in anticipation as she pulled out a familiar-looking cylinder. “I’m going to give this a look.” 

“Please pass along my thanks to the King. I don’t know where we’d be without his assistance,” Tony said. “And be careful with that thing -- we don’t need the resident genius sending herself back to babyhood.” She laughed in reply. 

“Good night, Mister Stark.”

“Please - I hardly feel like a ‘mister’ right now. Call me Tony.” 

 

He woke the next morning, disoriented and headachy. And, unfortunately, still stuck in a child’s body. While Tony was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, there was a soft knock on the door. 

“Good morning, sir,” an unfamiliar man with a covered tray and a bag at his feet greeted him. “My name is M’fisi. I have brought you some breakfast and new clothes, at the princess’s request. She asked me to escort you to the lab. Shall I return in, say, a half hour?” 

“Yes, please. Thank you.” Tony took the tray and the bag. He inhaled deeply; the scent of what promised to be the best coffee he’d had in much too long already kicking his brain into gear. The liquid nirvana was accompanied by fried sweet dough squares that tasted of coconut and cardamom. 

He ate quickly, then took a brief shower before donning the tunic and loose drawstring pants that had been in the bag, with a pair of sandals completing the ensemble. Just as he finished dressing, there was another knock. 

M’fisi led him back to the lab. Shuri was already there, standing at one of the sand tables and still dressed in the same clothing he’d last seen her in. “Pulling an all-nighter, Princess?” M’fisi cleared his throat in disapproval, but Shuri just shrugged in acknowledgement. 

“You have brought us quite a mystery. I’ve scanned it every which way and nearly the whole team is working on it.” She stepped to one side, inviting Tony to take a look. “Thank you, M’fisi.” The assistant bowed briefly and took his leave. Shuri started explaining her findings when Rogers walked in, accompanied by one of the Dora Milaje. 

To Tony’s surprise, his teammate had appeared to age a few years overnight. “Hey, Cap,” he greeted him, “I thought you were smaller.” 

“Tony?” Rogers looked him up and down, apparently equally surprised. “When me ‘n Bucky both woke up like this -- you know, older -- we figured it was wearing off.” 

“Not in my case, it seems. Maybe the super-soldier serum has something to do with it?” 

Shuri’s eyes lit up, and she called across the room to a white-clad tech. “Let’s get some blood samples from our guests.” The two of them were led to another part of the lab, where some vaguely familiar medical equipment resided. Tony tried not to flinch as they stuck a needle in his arm, instead calling over to Rogers. “So, where’s your shadow?” 

“Being prepped for surgery,” he replied, with a worried look. “The medical team wants to get the support structure for the arm out of him as soon as possible, give his bones a chance to heal.” Rogers paused, swallowing hard. “It looked... pretty bad.” 

Tony nodded in sympathy. “I can imagine. But he’s in good hands here, obviously. Any news from Rumlow?” 

“He is being held for further questioning,” Rogers’ escort broke in, “but he has been cooperative so far. Captain Rogers, my general would speak with you about your dealings with him. Confirm elements of his story.” 

“I’d be happy to help, ma’am.” Rogers stood and followed her out of the room. 

Some time later, M’fisi returned with what he assumed was welcome news. “Sergeant Barnes is resting comfortably after his procedure. Would you like to join him and Captain Rogers, Mister Stark?” 

Tony was torn; he and Shuri had made good progress looking over the results of the scans of the piece of tech Rumlow had provided, delving into discussions of particle physics and quantum decoherence. They were starting to get a handle on the theory behind the de-aging grenade, even if they were quite a ways away from attempting to reverse its effects. But he still had unfinished business to discuss with Rogers. “Your Highness?” he asked, pushing the decision into her court.

She looked closely at him, then waved a hand casually. “Go ahead. M’fisi, please order lunch for our guests as well. As it happens, I have another project I need to work on. We can return to this task later.” 

M’fisi took Tony to the infirmary area of the complex. As the door opened, Rogers looked up from where he was sitting next to the bed -- close enough to have probably been holding hands -- and motioned Tony inside. Barnes still appeared to be dozing, his left shoulder swathed in bandages. It didn’t appear that there was any arm stump to speak of; Tony wondered if that had been the case all along. 

“Hey,” Tony called out quietly. “So, how’d it go?” Despite the overall situation, Tony could still observe common decency. Rogers came over to Tony, so as not to disturb his partner. 

“They said they removed everything that could cause problems and would be looking at ways to resolve the nerve damage.” Tony pricked up his ears; maybe he could get a Wakandan medical team to look at Rhodey. “They’re examining his old arm and looking at ways to improve it. Of course, we have to get back to normal, first.” 

Tony agreed. “Shuri, the king’s sister, well, she’s brilliant. Trust me, I know genius when I see it. If anyone can figure out what that gadget did and how to reverse its effects, it will be her and her people.”

“Aren’t you going to help?” Rogers’ response was borderline accusatory, and Tony didn’t appreciate it. 

“I was planning on it, but I’ve been a little distracted,” he shot back. “You know, with the whole finding out that my parents were murdered by a brainwashed war hero turned assassin. How long you been sitting on that little tidbit there, anyways, Cap?” 

Rogers had the grace to look ashamed. “I, uh, a while.” 

Tony wasn’t going to let it go that easily. “Can you quantify that a bit for me? Days? Weeks? Months?” 

“I found out Hydra had something to do with your parents’ deaths back when SHIELD fell.” Tony listened in shock as Rogers explained about having encountered a computer avatar of Arnim Zola and the information it had imparted. Rogers had put more puzzle pieces together based on information Romanov shared with him, as well as the decrypted files JARVIS had provided. 

“But I still wasn’t sure it was Bucky, not until just a couple weeks ago. I swear, I was trying to figure out how to tell you when all this happened.” 

“Uh-huh.” Tony felt sick to his stomach. Two goddamned years. That’s how long Rogers had known, or at least had some idea. He thought back to their conversation out at Barton’s farm -- goddamned hypocrite, spouting off about teammates who kept secrets. 

“While we’re asking the hard questions, Tony,” Rogers said, once he realized he wasn’t going to be granted absolution, “How did you know where to find Bucky and me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI - I haven't finished the next chapter yet, so there may not be a weekend update. But rest assured this fic will be posted in its entirety by the contest end date of 9 May!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony tells Steve what happened to the rest of the Avengers, and it doesn't go all that well. Back in the lab (and with a little help from Shuri) Tony calls Pepper to let her know he's not coming back any time soon. Tony meets back up with his companions for dinner, and they start formulating a plan to go after their incarcerated teammates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a bit longer to get to you guys - Real Life is getting in the way. It looks as if there's one final chapter to go, which will get posted by the contest deadline, 9 May. 
> 
> Thanks as always to @bill-longbow for the awesome beta assistance!

Tony was more than happy to tell Rogers how he’d found out where he and Barnes had flown off to after the airport battle. It would make it all too clear what the consequences of their actions had been. “I talked to Wilson. Showed him what I’d just found out about Zemo and how he murdered the psychiatrist who was supposed to talk to Barnes and took his place.” Rogers’ eyebrows flashed in surprise. “Sam made me promise I’d come alone and as a friend. At least that was my intent.” Hard to believe that had been just over twenty-four hours ago -- it felt like days, if not weeks had passed. 

“Where’d they end up taking him, and the others?” Rogers asked like he didn’t want to know the answer. 

“They’re all at the Raft,” Tony responded, trying to keep the touch of schadenfreude from his voice. “Maximoff, Wilson, Barton and that other guy, Lang, was it?” 

Rogers blanched. “But, that’s not... they didn’t do anything to deserve being locked up there!” His voice cracked, fists clenching uselessly. “That place, it was built for...” he trailed off. 

“Super villains, right -- like Crossbones?” Tony shot back. “Guess what, that’s exactly what a hell of a lot of people think about us right now. We destroyed a fucking airport, Cap!” Tony didn’t bother to keep his voice down. “And after you and Patroclus there took off for parts unknown, someone had to take the blame. If it weren’t for the fact that Rhodey,” Tony paused, swallowing hard, “and I both recorded the whole damn thing, proving that we tried to get you to surrender, to work with us, we’d be locked up too.” 

“How is he, your friend?” Barnes asked, his voice raspy and low. Tony had no idea how much of the conversation he’d heard, but didn’t really care. 

“Most probably paralyzed.” He wasn’t going to sugar-coat the situation to spare their feelings. 

“What about the kid?” Rogers asked, still riled up. 

Tony didn’t appreciate the reminder that he’d brought a teenager into that debacle, super strength or no. “He’s fine -- sent him back home with Hogan. Unlike you, I clean up my messes. Yes, yes,” Tony said, heading off Rogers at the pass, “you had to stop Zemo from unleashing the other soldiers, I get that. But you didn’t have to do it alone.”

With a soft huff of laughter, Barnes added, “That’s what I keep trying to tell ‘im, Stark. Stevie's always been ten pounds of stubborn in a five pound bag.” 

"I did what had to be done," Rogers insisted, but he couldn't quite meet Tony's eyes. 

“So yeah," Tony snorted in derision, "your pals are all locked up tight and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it. And now if you’ll excuse me, I have some more fallout to deal with.” 

He stalked out of the room, only to nearly run into M’fisi, who was accompanied by another man pushing a catering cart. Apologizing, Tony asked to be taken back to the Design Group labs; after that confrontation with Rogers, he needed to see a friendly face. M’fisi spoke a few words to his companion, then picked up one of the covered dishes before it was wheeled into the room. “Follow me, Mister Stark.” 

As they walked down the hall, Tony said, “Thank you for all your assistance. I bet when you woke up yesterday morning, you didn’t expect to be babysitting a bunch of foreigners.” 

“I do what my King requires of me,” M’fisi replied solemnly, but there was a hint of a smile around his eyes. While they looked nothing alike, this man reminded Tony very much of Edwin Jarvis, his calm, unflappable demeanor overlaying both a dry sense of humour and a kind heart. “Here we are, sir.” M’fisi bowed slightly and went on his way. 

Shuri was working on a complicated schematic when Tony returned, so he ate quickly, and went over to the armor. He replaced the arc reactor and waited for it to power up. “Good morning, Friday -- did you miss me?” 

“Terribly so, Boss.” The suit’s internal batteries provided enough juice to keep Friday going for quite some time without the arc reactor, nevertheless he’d felt a little guilty at not replacing it sooner. He also suspected they’d need the power boost to do what he intended next. 

“Friday, please detach helmet.” The latches clicked, but even on his tiptoes, Tony couldn’t reach high enough to lift it off the gorget. He sighed -- this was getting really old, really quick -- and asked his AI to give him a hand. 

Donning the helmet, he said, “Call Pepper.” 

After a few moments of silence, Friday said, “Sorry, Boss, can’t get a signal through.” She sounded both frustrated and apologetic. 

Tony lifted the helmet off to see Shuri wearing an amused grin. “I probably shouldn’t tell you how adorable you look wearing that oversized headgear.” She frowned at his expression. “Something wrong?” 

“I wanted to call my CEO, ask her to reschedule a few meetings.” That wasn’t the only reason, of course; he simply needed to hear Pepper’s voice. God, he missed her. “Couldn’t get a signal.” 

“It’s the vibranium ore,” Shuri explained. “Damps down most of the frequencies in the communications spectrum.” She turned, rummaged in a drawer and handed over a flip phone. 

“You’re kidding,” he said flatly. 

“Don’t judge a book by its cover, Mister Genius. This is what we give our people when they are out in the field -- something that hardly anyone would bother to steal. But no matter where you are, or who you are trying to reach, your call will get through clearly and securely.” 

“Sorry - I should know better than to question your tech, Princess,” Tony apologized, taking the phone from her hand. “Is there somewhere I can get a little privacy?” She nodded over to one corner where, to his surprise, an old-fashioned phone booth that he was nearly certain wasn’t there the day before was now standing. 

At his apparently startled look, Shuri said with almost a straight face, “It’s for Captain Rogers, in case he wants to call anyone back home.” 

Tony laughed out loud. “Oh, that is perfect! You, my dear, are one hell of a troll. I knew I liked something about you!” She waved him off and returned to her work. Tony entered the booth and opened the phone. 

He dialed Pepper’s number and wasn’t surprised to be sent straight to voicemail. “Hey, Pep, it’s Tony. Please call me back at this number as soon as you can. I need to talk to you.” 

A few minutes later, the phone rang. “Tony?” Pepper sounded suspicious, and he could hardly blame her. 

“Yeah, Pep, it’s me. You know, the guy who bought you an eight-foot stuffed rabbit and strawberries when he should have gotten you that stunning blue dress instead. Your ex-boss who is pretty sure his Social Security number is five and wants to give you twelve percent of the credit.” 

“Okay,” she laughed softly, “that’s definitely you, Tony.” But her relaxed tone lasted only a moment. “Where are you? Are you really in Wakanda? What’s wrong with your voice?” He stifled a curse; one of the benefits of calling Pepper via the suit would have been the voice modulation software. 

“Yes, I’m in Wakanda, and trust me, you would not believe what’s going on right now.” At her murmur of concern, Tony continued, “I’m okay, for, uh, certain values of ‘okay’, but I don’t know when I can come back right now. The good news is that the real bad guy -- the one behind the Vienna bombing, the one that triggered Barnes back into soldier mode -- he’s been caught. The Wakandan authorities have him and I would assume will turn him over to face charges.” 

“Should I pass that along to General Ross?” 

“Probably not yet. I’m letting King T’Challa handle all that. I just wanted to let you know that I’m okay, but am gonna be mostly incommunicado for a while. And I wanted ...” he took a deep breath to tamp down the emotions welling up inside. “I wanted to hear your voice.” 

“Oh, Tony...” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, Pep. I know. But you’re the closest thing I have to ‘normal’ and I really need that right now. You have no idea how much." Another deep breath. "I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, Tony." Her voice shook just slightly. "I ... I should go.” 

“Okay. Any news on Rhodey?” 

“Doctor Cho is coming in tomorrow for an evaluation,” Pepper replied. “Can I leave a message at this number when I know more?” 

“Yeah. Thank you, Pep. For everything. Talk to you soon.” He hung up the phone and rested his forehead against the wooden wall of the booth, giving himself a few moments to pull himself together. 

Tony and Shuri’s team continued to work on the puzzle that was the de-aging grenade, and the next several hours flew by. Hunger pangs were starting to creep up on him when both M’fisi and Ayo came calling. They spoke briefly with Shuri, who then left with Ayo, while M’fisi came over to where Tony was working. 

“Mister Stark, the princess has been called away to attend to some responsibilities. If you would follow me?” It seemed he wasn’t allowed to spend time in the labs unattended, which was reasonable enough. 

Instead of being led back to his quarters, M’fisi took Tony to a room a little further down the hall. A sideboard contained multiple covered dishes, and Tony could recognize a few items by smell. Rogers and Barnes were already there, as was Rumlow. 

“Enjoy your meal, gentlemen. Please ring if you need assistance.” M’fisi pointed out a button near the door; the fact that they were to remain in the room until he or someone else returned was left unsaid. 

Rogers wouldn’t meet Tony’s eye, choosing instead to fix a plate for his companion. Barnes still looked under the weather, but was obviously chafing at being fussed over. “I told you, Stevie. I ain’t hungry.”

“You gotta eat, Buck. Get your strength up.” He scooped a rice and meat mixture onto a plate and set it in front of Barnes before returning to pile his own plate high.

Tony glanced over at Rumlow, who looked tired, but otherwise okay; the Dora Milaje must have saved their enhanced interrogation techniques for Zemo. 

“Stark,” he said, noticing Tony’s gaze. 

“How you holding up?” Tony asked in reply. 

“Feel like I’ve been talking for days.” Sounding even more raspy than before, Rumlow said he told the king and his advisor everything he could remember about Hydra and his own solo efforts, wrapping up with the Zola and Zemo Show. “I hope they can do something with it.” 

They ate in near-silence, with side glances going back and forth between the super soldiers until Barnes said, “If you ain’t gonna ask, punk, I will.” He raised his head to look at Tony. “Stark, what do you know about that Raft prison?”

Enough to know that whatever you’re thinking, you might as well give it up.” Tony replied. “It’s basically a mobile Alcatraz, with some serious computer security to boot.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be some sort of genius, Tony? I seem to remember you hacking into multiple countries’ military systems to lock Ultron out of their nuclear codes." 

“Oh, I didn’t say I couldn’t get into their systems, Cap. Hell, I was able to jam their audio with just my watch. I Between the snooping I had Friday do when I was there, and the kind of tech the princess would probably let me borrow, I could get them chasing their tails and we could sneak a whole platoon in. The security isn’t the problem. It’s the logistics.” 

“What do you mean?” Rogers challenged. 

“Well, for one thing, ” Tony explained, “you guys are more than a little short to be stormtroopers; no way you could pretend to be guards. And don’t even think about asking the king to sending any of his own people in. He’s already done enough by offering us sanctuary.” 

“There’s Natasha,” Rogers began, but Tony cut him off, shaking his head. 

“She’s on Ross’ shit list now, too. If the Widow is smart, she’s in the wind already; that or keeping an eye on Barton’s family.” Rogers flinched at the mention of Laura and the kids. Good. 

“What about me?” Rumlow broke in. “Everyone thinks I’m dead, makes me expendable. Whip up some credentials, and I’ll talk the talk and walk the walk.”

“Even if you got in, why would Sam or Clint trust you?” Rogers spat. 

“Well, SHIELD's got this tech -- photostatic veils -- that make you into a perfect likeness of someone else, at least their face. I bet Stark could whip up something like that. I show up as a guard, get in. then swap over to become Cap, just long enough to get your people out. And there ought to be icers on the quinjet, so I wouldn’t even have to hurt anyone.” 

“Icers?” Tony asked. 

“I forget what the acronym stands for, but it’s a gun with non-lethal ammo,” Rumlow replied, “knocks you unconscious for awhile, but otherwise you’re fine.” 

“That... might actually work,” Tony mused. “But the Raft spends 90% of its time underwater, It only surfaces when they’re expecting visitors.” Before Rogers could get a word in, Tony went on. “And no, you’re not going to try turning yourself in just to get access.” 

“Toldja he wouldn’t go for it,” Barnes muttered. "Not that anyone would believe a kid was Captain America, anyways." 

“Listen, Steve, I don’t think our friends belong there any more than you do,” Tony said. “But we gotta think this through. So let's put that strategic mind of yours to good use already." 

They spent the rest of the evening working through what they would need if they were really going to go after the incarcerated Avengers. As Tony had said, shutting down security wouldn’t be too much of a challenge, and disguising Rumlow should be easy enough as well, once he found the specs for the photostatic veil. But as he'd said, the trick would be getting access to the Raft to start with. However, Tony thought he just might have an ace up his sleeve when it came to that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a difficult night, Tony learns more about what motivated Rumlow to switch sides. As they prepare their assault on the Raft, they both learn a little more about the relationship between Steve and Bucky. Cap and Rumlow make their rescue attempt, and it is almost entirely successful.

Tony was just about to drop off to sleep when the flip phone rang. “H’lo?” 

“My apologies for the late hour, Mister Stark, but Ms. Potts indicated this was a rather urgent matter.” 

“S’ok, Vision.” Tony still found himself unnerved by hearing JARVIS’ voice spoken with intonations and rhythms just different enough to be noticeable. “I wasn’t quite asleep yet.”

“You sound quite strange. Are you well? ” 

“Long story,” Tony replied, dismissing the question. “I have a favor to ask you. I want you to get a hold of General Thaddeus Ross and tell him you think you can get the Rogue Avengers to tell you where Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes went if you visit them in person, at the Raft.” 

“And how would I do that?” 

“The former? Pepper can help you get in touch with Ross. The latter? Well, that might take some creative dissembling. Let him think that the stone in your head gives you mind-control, hypnotic powers or something. It doesn’t really matter. What we need is a reason for the Raft to come up to the surface for awhile.” 

“And why would that be, sir?” Tony winced; he’d programmed Friday to call him ‘Boss’ for a reason. 

“Ignorance is bliss, my friend. What you don’t know can’t hurt you.” 

“I have not found either of those idioms to be particularly true. But I will do as you ask.” Tony smiled at the hint of sass, whether a remnant of JARVIS or something Vision was learning on his own, it was a welcome sign.

“Thanks, Viz. Call me as soon as you know when and where you’re supposed to go. We’ll take it from there.” Tony set the phone down on the nightstand and pulled the covers back around him.

 

Some time later, Tony was startled awake by a clap of thunder. He knew storms weren’t something be afraid of, but sometimes he couldn’t help it. He hugged his pillow close and felt around for his bear, but couldn’t find him. Maybe he fell on the floor? Tony peeked out from under the blankets. “Jarvis?” he called out. This wasn’t his bed, or his room. Everything looked strange and kind of scary. “Jarvis!” His voice quivered as he tried really hard to not start crying. 

“Hey, you okay in there?” a voice called out. It wasn’t Jarvis. It wasn’t even his father. It was...

Tony sat bolt upright, gasping, four decades of memories coming back to him in a rush. He patted at his chest, free of both the arc reactor and the scars left from the surgery. He stared down at his hands; still small and soft. For just a moment, he let himself wonder if it would be so bad to truly become a child again. Let the memories fade and start over. 

But he couldn’t. He had too many people depending in him to make things right: Rhodey, Pepper, the Parker kid, and even Rogers and Barnes. He was a mechanic, first and foremost. He would fix what was broken, whether it was his fault or not. 

“Stark? Are you all right?” It was Rumlow checking in on him. 

“Yeah,” Tony answered, hoping the shakiness of his reply didn’t carry through the door.

“You don’t sound all right.” After a moment of silence, Rumlow asked, “Can I come in?” He didn’t sound all that great either. 

“Sure.” 

The door opened, and Rumlow stepped in. “You want the lights on?” 

“That’s fine.” After squinting at the glare for a moment, Tony took a good look at his visitor. He looked worse than he had at dinner, dark circles under his eyes and a five o’clock shadow. “The weather wake you up, too?” 

Rumlow shook his head. “Nightmares. All the rehashing musta stirred something up.” 

Tony knew the feeling all too well. “Been there, done that. It sucks, doesn’t it?” 

“You don’t know the half of it, pal,” Rumlow replied, “Let me clue you in.” He explained that he’d been one of the Soldier’s handlers and that he’d betrayed Rogers in the name of Hydra. “Can’t hardly blame them for hating me, now, can ya?” Rumlow rose and paced the room restlessly as he went on. He’d been caught up in the literal fall of the Triskelion and barely escaped with his life. Horribly burned and broken, the subsequent pain and desire for revenge was the fuel for his transformation into Crossbones. 

“But with this new body,” Rumlow said, extending an arm and flexing his hand, “that’s all gone. I can think clearly, for the first time in years. I guess my conscience finally kicked in.” He stood at the window for a moment, looking out into the night, before turning to face Tony. “I'm not making excuses, Stark, and I know I've got to pay for what I’ve done. Helping Cap get the other Avengers out of the Raft just might be a start. And if I don’t come back,” he shrugged, “well, I got a few extra innings out of it, didn’t I?” 

 

Tony wasn’t surprised the next morning when, as he told Shuri about the photostatic veil tech, she looked vaguely amused. Once he finished, she went over to a large cabinet, rummaged around for a bit and brought out a small box. “Who is it for and who should it be?” 

It took the entire morning to program the mask, working through hours of footage of Rogers to make sure every angle was covered. Shuri complained about how often Captain America’s face was covered by the cowl, so Tony dug up some film from his father’s Project Rebirth files, as well as recordings from Rogers’ re-awakening that he’d snagged from the SHIELD data dump. The Wakandan version of the mask had voice modulation capabilities, so audio calibration had to be performed as well. 

Rumlow joined them for a trial run that afternoon. Tony had to admit, once the mask was switched on, it was easy to believe that Cap was standing there. Rumlow was an inch or so shorter than Rogers, but thick-soled boots took care of that, and a loose-fitting jacket made up for the minor differences in physique. Rumlow had picked up on Cap’s body language fairly well and the voice was good for at least short exchanges. 

The briefing was much more of a challenge. For the plan to work, their teammates had to believe that the man coming to their rescue was Rogers, or everything would fall to pieces. While Lang had just met Cap earlier that day, and would therefore be easy enough to fool, Wilson had spent weeks at a time with Rogers while he searched for Barnes; Sam would be quick to pick up on any anomalies. Barton’s sharp eyes were also likely to notice any inconsistencies in his fellow Avenger’s behavior, and if Maximoff took it into her head to look into their rescuer’s, the jig would be up. 

It didn’t help that Rogers was sullen and sulky through the whole meeting. Tony wasn’t sure how much of it was pre-teen hormones -- as Cap had aged up a couple more years overnight -- and how much of it was the obvious (and understandable) animosity he had towards his former enemy. It was like pulling teeth to get him to talk about those little things that would make the difference between success and failure. They dragged some details out of him: a few in-jokes he and Wilson had and the exchange between him and Lang before the airport battle, but Tony was concerned it wouldn’t be enough, so they dug further. 

Rogers flared up at Rumlow’s question about whether Wilson knew just how close he and Barnes really were, saying it was none of their damned business. “Knock it off, Cap,” Tony replied. “He’s got a good point, and neither of us are judging you. It’s just another piece of information.” Rumlow nodded in agreement, as Tony continued. “Does Sam know why you were moving heaven and earth to find him?”

Rogers glared at them both for a moment, before dropping his eyes and saying quietly, “We had to keep it a secret, back then, ya know? Bucky didn’t even remember me at first, so how could I expect him to remember us? But he did.” A smile briefly crossed his face. “I never breathed a word to Sam, but he’s a smart guy. He might’ve put two and two together, I dunno.” They wrapped up the briefing and went their separate ways. 

From that point, it was ‘hurry up and wait’, having to be ready at a moment’s notice in order to piggyback on Vision’s visit to the Raft. While they obviously couldn’t keep their operation a secret -- prepping the quinjet, clearing flight plans for their departure and return, and taking care of dozens of other details made that nigh impossible -- they were quite aware that their mission had no official sanction from the King of Wakanda. The success or failure of their endeavor was all on them. 

In the meanwhile, progress was being made on reverse engineering the de-aging grenade. Tony and Shuri both refused to accept Rumlow’s explanation of “occult Hydra bullshit” as the final word; turning the old adage of sufficiently advanced technology being indistinguishable from magic on its head to figure out exactly how that bit of tech worked.

They were on the verge of what looked to be a final breakthrough when Vision’s call came through. After running dozens of simulations, they were getting close -- Tony could almost taste it -- and for a moment or two, he resented the interruption. But needs must, and with the timeline and coordinates in hand, they kicked their plan into action. Rogers and Barnes had continued to age up rapidly, and were now somewhere in their mid-teens, so the plan was tweaked slightly. 

They still needed Rumlow to play the role of rescuer, for while there was definitely a resemblance between Rogers’ current appearance and that of Captain America, he was surprisingly uncoordinated as his gangly frame had grown temporarily out of proportion. Besides, the way Rogers’ voice broke in the middle of his sentences pretty much guaranteed that no one would take him seriously as the Star Spangled Man with a Plan. 

However, Captain Stubborn argued his way onto the plane, saying that they’d need someone to act as a getaway driver and to watch the various jammers and other bits of electronic subterfuge that would get Rumlow into the building. Rogers promised he would stay on board unless all hell broke loose. At that point, the plan was for him to storm the Raft with sleepgas grenades, wearing a tac suit and a gas mask to hide his identity. 

Barnes joined Tony in seeing their companions off. He listed slightly to one side, being unused to the missing heft of the arm, but was otherwise in relatively good spirits. Tony would not have been surprised to see him and Rogers make an affectionate farewell -- the wall between his room and theirs wasn’t quite as soundproof as he might have wished -- but it seemed neither of them was quite ready for an open declaration of their romantic bond, settling instead for a manly handshake and shoulder clasp. 

“See ya later... kid,” Rumlow said, ruffling Tony’s hair. He started to make an indignant protest, but stopped at the look in the other man’s eyes. The hint of parental fondness mixed with sadness and resignation spurred Tony to instead grab Rumlow’s hand as he withdrew and give it a quick squeeze. 

“Have fun storming the castle!” he called out as they walked away across the tarmac.

Rogers turned and grinned. “I get that reference! Princess Bride!” He waved a hand and disappeared into the quinjet, followed by Rumlow, who didn’t look back. 

Once the jet was out of sight, Tony turned to go back in to the building, nearly running into Barnes, who must’ve snuck up next to him when he wasn’t paying attention. 

“Think they can do it?” Barnes asked him quietly. 

“I’d lay even odds, if I were a betting man. I’ve learned never to underestimate the good Captain. And whatever else Rumlow was in the past, he’s a smart man who knows what he’s doing.” 

Barnes nodded stiffly, then took a deep breath. “Speaking of the past, Stark--” Tony cut him off, holding up a hand. 

“Yeah, think we’ve kinda moved past that, Sarge. Water under the bridge. You know, I guess I’m not surprised that Pops was up to something that got him offed. I just wish...” Tony paused and bit his lip, “that Mom hadn’t been in the car with him.” 

Barnes swallowed hard, grief and contrition clear in his expression. “Me too.” 

 

At an insistent knock on the door, Tony crossed the room slowly and stiffly, every joint in his body sore and aching. He had new sympathy for what Rogers had gone through in that Project Rebirth pod. While it was an immeasurable relief to look in the mirror and see what he expected to see once again, Shuri seemed to have mixed feelings. She was clearly elated that they’d puzzled out the mysterious bit of tech they’d been given and was already plotting out ways to adapt the concept for medical purposes. However, the casual affection she’d shown his younger self seemed to have disappeared; it was as if they’d had to start their friendship over again. 

Tony opened the door to a familiar face: M’fisi. “Mister Stark, your companions have arrived.” 

Wilson, Barton and Lang were getting checked over in the medical suite, looking a little worse for wear, but otherwise all right. Tony asked about Wanda, and was told the queen herself, accompanied by Okoye and Shuri, was seeing to her. Rogers stared silently out the window, posture stiff and unyielding as Barnes stood next to him, a hand on his partner’s shoulder. 

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Tony looked around for the final member of their party. “Where’s Rumlow?” 

“He didn’t make it,” Rogers’ reply was curt and clipped. “Wanda stirred up a storm to help cover our retreat, and he got blown overboard.” 

“Swear to god, Rogers,” Tony growled, suspicion and sorrow flaring up in equal measure, “if you took advantage of the situation --” 

“It wasn’t like that at all, Tony,” Wilson interjected. “Steve almost went over the edge himself, trying to save the guy. Nothing more we could do.” The note of honest regret in his voice reassured Tony somewhat, and he bit back the caustic comment on his lips about ‘losing a soldier’. 

“Any other repercussions?” Tony asked instead.

“No sign of pursuit. Whatever you did to tweak the quinjet’s cloaking system worked.” Barton’s response was begrudging at best. He was obviously still bitter about the way everything had gone down, but Tony couldn't care less. Barton made his bed, now he had to lie in it. Tony felt a little more sorry for Lang, whose air of bewilderment was palpable. 

“So, where exactly are we again,” he asked, “and why do Cap and his pal look like teenagers?” 

With a wry smile, Tony clapped Lang on the back, “It’s a long story, Bug Boy. Maybe we should get a drink, first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that wraps up this story, just in time for the contest deadline! 
> 
> It's been an interesting trip; I never expected to be giving Brock Rumlow a redemption arc, but here we are. Stay tuned for the remix of this story, told from his point of view. I plan to start posting it by the end of the month, possibly sooner.


End file.
